


Prime Number

by LavenderProse



Series: As Many As Possible Squeezed In Between (Knock Yuuri Up Week 2017) [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Day One: Impregnation | Planning and Announcement, Emetophobia, Family Planning, Kid Fic, Knock Yuuri Up Week, M/M, Morning Sickness, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Religious Undertones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 21:02:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12992466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LavenderProse/pseuds/LavenderProse
Summary: The Katsuki-Nikiforov family as it grows, one pregnancy test and one prayer and one airport bathroom quickie and one kiss and one faulty vasectomy and one baby at a time.





	Prime Number

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO KIDS, it is two AM EST and I am finally posting my first fic for Knock Yuuri Up Week. Please bury me, I am dead. This was written in a handful of hours and is CRAZY UNBETA'D. Please enjoy.

Hasetsu changes Yuuri.

After only a few days in the fresh air and open space of his hometown, Yuuri starts to look better. The lines of stress start smoothing from between his eyes and around his mouth. His back straightens out; he starts standing taller. He and Viktor go on long walks during which they don’t talk, but they don’t have to. It’s a return to their roots; the summer they spent learning how to love each other. Viktor walks through the marketplace and down the boardwalk with Yuuri’s hand in his pocket and things start to feel okay again, after awhile.

“My mom asked what was going on,” Yuuri tells him one night, as Viktor is getting ready for bed. Yuuri is already there, and has been for a little while. He’s been reading on his phone while Viktor took Makkachin and the puppy on a brisk evening stroll. “So I told her. I hope that’s okay.”

“Darling, she’s your mother,” Viktor says as he turns down his side of the bed. “You can tell her whatever you want. It’s not my place to say what you should or shouldn’t talk about with your own family.” He crawls under the blankets and presses a chaste kiss to Yuuri’s cheek.

“I just…didn’t know if it was a personal thing or not,” Yuuri says, eyes still on his phone. He’s doing that thing where he pretends the conversation isn’t as gravid as it really is. Viktor doesn’t necessarily resent it, but it isn’t his favorite aspect of his husband’s personality.

“Darling,” Viktor says again, chin on Yuuri’s shoulder, “you…you had a miscarriage. And yes, it’s personal, but it’s also a family tragedy. It isn’t something that one person can work through without help. If talking to your mother helps, it’s absolutely something you should do.”

Yuuri leans his head against Viktor’s. After a moment, he murmurs, “She had one too, you know. She never said anything to me, but when I was a kid, I…I found these pictures in a closet and she was pregnant, in them. They were too old to be when she was pregnant with me, and they were after Mari.”

“Oh,” Viktor whispers. “I…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Yuuri says, and his smile then is small, but genuine. He isn’t sad. He’s spent a lot of time being sad since June, and this isn’t it. Viktor doesn’t really know what to call it. Thoughtfulness, maybe. “I just…thought you should know. So you can understand.”

“Thank you,” Viktor says, after a moment. “For telling me.”

Yuuri smiles again.

Viktor squeezes Yuuri’s knee and drops a kiss onto Yuuri’s shoulder before he rolls over, flipping off the lamps on his side of the bed. Yuuri is a chronic night owl and will probably be up for at least another hour on his phone, chatting with friends halfway across the world. Viktor doesn’t begrudge him this behavior—true that it’s sometimes difficult to sleep next to someone whose circadian rhythm is so different from your own, but Yuuri is respectful. Yuuri is happiest when he can stay up until three in the morning and sleep until noon, and Viktor wants him to be happy. Especially here, in this place. He’s spent the last week helping Hiroko feed Yuuri good food, listening to him talk to his father in quick and accented Japanese about things like footie and the book _Shogun_ , watching Yuuri and Mari lounge in the backyard of the family-only area of the Onsen, throwing a ball for the puppy.

He’s spent the week watching what happened in June leak away from Yuuri’s face, just a little. Although he knows it will never really be gone. It will be something they both wear somewhere in their hearts for the rest of their lives. There is a string of one hundred beads that he keeps in a pocket most days, and he has spent the months since June gripping them. _Gospodi Iisuse Khriste, Syne Bozhiy, pomiluy mya greshnago._ _Lord Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner_.

He sees mercy in the gentling line of his husband’s shoulders and in the understanding, _knowing_ way that the Katsukis look at their son, and his grip on the beads loosens.

Presently, he expects Yuuri to stay up for at least another hour—he doesn’t even ask, just turns off his lamps and turns his back to Yuuri’s, knowing that he will either turn them off when he gets tired enough, or they will wake up at four AM with the lights too bright in their eyes.

To his surprise, Yuuri turns off his lights after only a few moments and settles under the blankets. Viktor feels his cold nose against the back of his neck—he reaches a hand back and pulls Yuuri closer to him by the hip, shuffling until he’s comfortable with Yuuri’s knees bent into the hollow of his own.

“Tired?” he asks after a moment, speaking directly into the pillow.

“Mmmno,” Yuuri replies, and takes one of his fingers up under Viktor’s shirt, along the dip of his waist and up towards his shoulder blade. Viktor shivers. Yuuri’s leg goes up and over Viktor’s hip, and Viktor pushes back, leveraging himself on the edge of the bed with his fingers steepled over the edge. Yuuri makes a sweet noise between his shoulder blades; Viktor mewls back.

After a moment, Yuuri stops. Viktor can hear his panting breath, moves a hand back to palm at his hip again, searching for more friction.

Yuuri grips his hand. “Wait.”

Viktor stills immediately and waits, moving only to smooth a thumb over the back of Yuuri’s hand. Eventually, Yuuri sits up and pulls at Viktor until he’s on his back, then straddles his hips. Viktor finds a happy home for his thumbs tucked up on the inside of Yuuri’s thighs, and waits for him to speak. He’s warm, and heavy on Viktor’s hips, and Viktor wants him just as badly now as he did in a hotel room in China years ago.

“I brought an ovulation test with me,” Yuuri tells him, arousal flushed high in his cheeks. “I was thinking I could—”

“No,” Viktor mumbles, squeezing his thighs. “We agreed, we wouldn’t make a big deal out of trying, we’ll just—we’ll see what—"

“Too late,” Yuuri breaths, and presses two fingers to Viktor’s lips. “I took it already. Before I came to bed. I’m—”

Viktor, in spite of himself, feels a certain franticness rise up in him. He rolls over, taking Yuuri with him, Yuuri yelps and rolls with him, body instinctively ragdolled like he’s just had a bad take off on an Axel and knows that the landing will be bad. They come to a rest in a sort of reversal of their previous positions, with Viktor between Yuuri’s legs and Yuuri panting up at him, hips moving in a beautiful little pattern.

“You’re ovulating?” Viktor asks him, and he nods. Viktor buries his face in Yuuri’s neck and breathes an _oooh_ there, reaching down to bury a hand underneath Yuuri’s sleeping pants.

“Are we making a baby?” Viktor breathes, wet, against Yuuri’s neck. “Do you want to make a baby?”

“Yes,” Yuuri breathes. “Oh God, yes.”

Eight weeks later, Yuuri will come sprinting home from an errand run with eight pregnancy tests and none of the groceries he was supposed to have gotten. He and Viktor will cry together on the bathroom floor, surrounded by little blue plus signs and parallel pink lines and digital displays with the word “PREGNANT” on them.

“What’s the Japanese word for lucky charm?” Viktor asks him, hand buried far under Yuuri’s shirt.

“Omamori,” Yuuri replies, wry, and he thinks of the rings they exchanged that night in Barcelona. _A good luck charm._ “And no, you can’t name a child that. It’s not a name.”

“Well, what is?” Viktor asks, and Yuuri rolls his eyes extravagantly. He’s indulgent, though, and so happy that he’s practically about to vibrate out of his skin.

“We’ll figure it out later,” Yuuri whispers.

* * *

There is a pregnancy scare during Irina’s first visit to Japan.

It’s actually not so much a scare, really. It’s Yuuri sneaking furtively down to the corner store and buying several boxes of pregnancy tests and begging Tomoro-chan not to tell her grandmother, because her grandmother will tell Yuuri’s mother and he’s _not prepared_ to answer the kind of questions she’ll ask. Then, later, it’s Viktor standing outside the bathroom with Irina on his hip, waiting for Yuuri to tell him the verdict.

“You can come in,” Yuuri tells him, after waiting for all the tests to develop. Viktor scans his way down the line, and the moment he realizes that all of them are negative is recognizable by a certain…disappointment, almost, in his eyes.

“Like I said, my fertility…probably hasn’t returned yet,” says Yuuri, standing beside Viktor with his fingers waving in front of his face, playing with Irina. Her hazel eyes follow him everywhere, awe-struck by the littlest things the way babies always are. She’s exactly twelve months old, and she’s finally starting to make the transition all the way to solid food. “I’m still nursing, so.”

“Right,” says Viktor, nodding. “But in a few months, you won’t be.”

Yuuri looks up, raising an eyebrow. “No, I won’t be.” He spends a moment looking at Viktor, slightly bemused, before he ventures, “Do you…want to have another baby?”

“Yes,” Viktor says immediately. “I do. I’ve always—I’ve always said, I’ve always told you. I want a big family.”

“How big is ‘big’?” Yuuri mumbles, almost to himself. He doesn’t quite meet Viktor’s eyes in that moment.

“I don’t know,” Viktor murmurs. “At least three. Maybe four or five. I have— _we_ have the money to support a family that size, and I always…imagined myself…” He reaches out his hand to Yuuri’s, wrapping it gently around his wrist. “Do you not want to have another baby? It’s fine, if you don’t. It’s not—it won’t make me angry. Or love you any less, or whatever it is you’re worrying about in that brain of yours.”

“No, I do,” Yuuri assures him. He takes Irina from Viktor, settles her on his front, head bowed to look into her face. She coos and plants a hand on his cheek, and he smiles and pretends to eat her thumb. Viktor’s heart clenches hard. When Irina settles, Yuuri puts a cheek on her head, sways back and forth slow and gentle and says, “I’m not sure about four or five, but I—I’d like to have another, yes. But…”

“But?” Viktor prompts, after a moment of Yuuri staring at nothing.

“My mother had her miscarriage after her first child,” Yuuri says, slow and low. It’s nothing that Irina would understand, not at her age, but there’s an air of respectful secrecy that comes into his voice whenever he talks about this. “She was younger than me when it happened, and she was almost a month further along than I was when I had mine.”

“Oh,” Viktor whispers. “I understand.”

“I want another baby,” Yuuri says. “I really do. But if it happened again, I’d…I’m not sure what I’d do with myself.”

“It’s your decision,” Viktor says immediately. “Your body, your rules. And I won’t hate you, no matter what you decide. I just—I just want you to know that whatever happens, I’ll be here. We’ll get through it together.”

Yuuri smiles and kisses him, and murmurs something that might be _thank you_. He leaves the bathroom and takes Irina with him, and Viktor stares at himself in the mirror until Mari comes along ten or so minutes later in need of the bathroom.

The subject isn’t broached again until they return to Russia several weeks later, and even then they’ve been back in Russia for a month or so before Viktor comes home from walking the dog to find Yuuri standing in the middle of the home office, staring with an almost empty gaze at the walls.

“We would need to paint,” he says, apropos of nothing as Viktor comes up behind him after putting Irina down for a nap. “And I would want to put carpet in here, because it’s warmer. Or maybe, I don’t know—maybe we should just move, since I don’t know where to put the desks if they’re not in this room. I guess we have room for one in the bedroom, and the other can go in the living room—but it would be a bit cluttered.”

“What are you talking about?” Viktor asks, completely bemused. He presses his chest to Yuuri’s back and his lips to Yuuri’s head. “I mean, you don’t make sense on a good day, but this is a little much even for— _ow_.” Yuuri’s hand snaps back and hits him on the shoulder. “Okay, I deserved that. But what…?”

“I’ve been using my basal thermometer,” Yuuri says. “My cycle has been a bit off ever since Irina’s birth but I’m pretty sure I’ll be ovulating within the next couple of days. I’m…” He sighs, and reaches up to grip the arm that Viktor has across his chest. “I’m willing to try, Vitya. I _want_ to try. But I can’t do another…another year of it, of trying and hoping and failing and _hating_ the thought of being intimate with you because it means I might disappoint you. I’ll give it a few months, Vitya, but I can’t promise you any more than that. I want it—I want it so badly. But not enough to wreck our marriage over it, and we came close to that the first time.”

“Alright,” Viktor whispers. “Yes, of course. Of course that’s fine. I’ll only take as much as you’re willing to give.” He drags his hand down over Yuuri’s belly, because he can’t help himself, and adds, “But you never disappointed me, darling. You never could.”

_Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner._

Mikhail Viktorivich is born on a Tuesday.

* * *

Yuuri is thirty-five years old. He’s a father of two and he’s been with the same man for over ten years. He won gold at the Olympics and he coaches a roster that has won pretty much every major national and international competition there is to win. He is successful and mature and there is no reason, _literally_ no reason, why he should be letting his husband of eight and a half years fuck him against the accessibility railing of the family restroom in International Departures, Pulkovo Airport.

“It’s only five weeks,” Yuuri pants, trousers hanging off one ankle and hand white-knuckling the railing so hard that he won’t be surprised if it leaves dents. Viktor always had a little bit of an exhibitionist streak in him, and this genuinely is not the most public location that they have ever done something like this, but it’s happened seldom since they started having children. Mostly because Yuuri is terrified, viscerally, of someone finding out and _that_ being an article that his children can find on the internet one day.

“Five weeks,” Viktor bleats against his shoulder. He sucks a bruise over Yuuri’s collarbone. “That’s the longest we’ve ever been apart, did you know that? Five _weeks—_ ”

“I’m coming _back_ ,” Yuuri says, only a little exasperated. “I’m co—I’m coming—I’m _coming_ —"

Viktor kisses him goodbye at the gate with a love-swollen mouth and disheveled hair. Yuuri smells his husband on him for the entire flight to Japan, and it’s almost enough to stave off homesickness.

Yuuri spends two weeks in Sapporo for the Asian Winter Games, a week in Tokyo for meetings with Mizuno and several other sponsors with whom he needs to renew contracts, and then four days in Kyushu judging a regional competition which he was begged, practically on hands and knees, to attend.

It’s fun, and very different to be speaking Japanese all the time instead of that bastardized slushy of three different languages that he tends to use at home. It’s also exhausting, though, and by the time he gets to his parents’ house for his promised week of visitation, all he can bring himself to do for a few days is sleep. On the third day, one of the applications that he has on his phone to monitor his various cycles pings, and he realizes that he’s late. By about a week, he’s late.

He buys a pregnancy test. It lives in his coat pocket until the day he leaves back for Russia, when he finally gives in and takes it in the airport bathroom in Fukuoka.

It’s only appropriate, he supposes.

Viktor picks him up from Pulkovo airport with both kids and the dog. Irina rushes up to him, hair flying out behind her, and Yuuri doesn’t even think about swooping down and picking her up. A creak from his back tells him that it might not have been such a good idea, but he only stares into the distance like a deer in the headlights for a _brief_ moment.

“What is it?” Viktor asks, settling a hand on his back. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m great,” Yuuri says, smacking a kiss onto Irina’s cheek, then onto Mikhail’s, then onto Viktor’s. “I’m fine. My back just hurts a little.” He looks at Irina. “You’re heavier than I remember!”

“Tosan!” Irina whines, and Yuuri blows a raspberry into her belly.

When they return home and finally get the kids to bed, Yuuri pulls the test out of his pocket and slowly approaches Viktor in the living room. He’s reading a book, legs crossed in that elegant fashion that Yuuri loves. He curls up beside him and says, “I have something for you.”

“You do?” Viktor asks. He looks up from the book after a moment, grinning. “A souvenir? You didn’t have to, you know. I’ve been to Japan about a hundred times.”

Yuuri smiles, wry. “I kind of did have to, actually.” He presses the test into Viktor’s hand, and watches Viktor’s eyes go from narrow to wide, and the dozens of times he blinks in those following moments. His hand snaps to Yuuri’s leg and he squeezes hard. His eyes water.

“Oh, Kitten,” he breathes. “Yuuri. Oh, sweetheart. When—”

“This morning,” Yuuri murmurs. “I took the test before I got on the plane. I think—I think it must have happened when we were—before I left for Japan? In the airport bathroom?”

Viktor clamps a hand over his mouth and closes his eyes, whispering something under his breath. It’s a prayer, Yuuri thinks. Viktor utters it with the lilting tone and the reverence of one. He’s heard his husband whisper those words many times over their life together, but he’s never asked what they mean, and he’s never tried to find out for himself. He figures that Viktor has the right to some modicum of privacy. And he figures that someday, when he’s ready, he’ll tell Yuuri what they mean.

“Our child can never know that they were conceived during a ten-minute quickie in an airport bathroom,” Viktor says. It breaks the tension, and Yuuri laughs.

In bed that night, Viktor’s hand curves around his belly the way that it only seems to do when Yuuri is pregnant. Yuuri settles against him, soothed, and considers how to tell Viktor that he wants to go home, back to Japan, so that his parents don’t die without knowing their grandchildren.

In eight months, Emma Viktorovna will be born and, in ten, Yakov Feltsman will die surrounded by skaters he raised and the children who call him grandpa. The Katsuki-Nikiforov family will move to Japan three months after that and, just like it did six years before, Hasetsu helps them heal.

* * *

Viktor has a vasectomy when he turns forty-two.

“Are you sure?” Yuuri asks him when they’re already sitting in the waiting room and it’s far too late for anybody to change their mind. Viktor chuckles at the irony, but it isn’t a mean sound. Yuuri has been worrying about this for the better part of two months, since Viktor breached the subject with him on Irina’s eighth birthday.

“I’m sure,” Viktor says, and squeezes Yuuri’s hand. “I’m not going to lie and say I would never want any more children. I’d like to have maybe one more.” He winks, and Yuuri blinks and blushes in that way he’s always done, since before their first kiss even. “But we’re not spring chickens anymore. We’re too old to be fussing around with birth control.”

“That’s true,” says Yuuri, who walked in on Emma and Mikhail trying to unwrap a condom they found shoved under the sofa the other day and howled so loudly that the neighbors knocked on the door to make sure everyone was still alive. “That’s true.”

The whole procedure takes fifteen minutes. Viktor is sent home with an ice pack, a prescription for a minor pain medication, and instructions not to have sex for at least three weeks. Viktor listens, barely, but life goes on. Yuuri flushes the last of his birth control down the toilet and uninstalls his cycle-monitoring apps in effigy. Viktor stops buying condoms. Other than that, their lives don’t really change all that much.

Then, Yuuri starts getting sick.

At first, they think it’s the flu. Or gastroenteritis, or whatever it is that has _being abjectly miserable_ as a symptom. They wait for about a week for it to stop, watching for symptoms of it catching in the children. The children remain healthy, thankfully, but Yuuri can’t keep anything down. He lies in bed for four straight days with a bucket and four blankets, and Viktor brings him clear liquids that end right back up in the bucket less than an hour after they go down.

“I think,” says Mari, leaning against the door to their bedroom. She’s come over to babysit because Yuuri is far too sick to care for the children, and Viktor is far too exhausted from caring for Yuuri. “I think you should go to the doctor. There’s something wrong.”

“I can’t,” Yuuri whispers, closing his eyes. There is sweat beaded on his forehead. “I can’t—”

“Why not?”

“I’m scared,” Yuuri whispers after a moment. “I’m—what if I’m dying? I have three children under the age of ten, Mari. I can’t—what would I do, if I was sick? What would Viktor do if I died? How can one person raise three children by themselves?”

“Not going to the doctor won’t make you any less sick,” Mari murmurs. She crosses the room and kneels beside him, brushing his hair back. His skin isn’t feverish, but clammy. Sickly. “I want you to feel better, Yuuri. Please go.”

Yuuri sighs, and nods after a moment. “Alright.”

“And just so you know,” Mari whispers, “he wouldn’t have to do it alone.”

Yuuri makes an appointment for the morning. He and Viktor don’t really rest that night. Viktor lays beside him with his prayer beads in his hands, whispering under his breath, and Yuuri lays on his side, pretending to sleep.

_Gospodi Iisuse Khriste, Syne Bozhiy, pomiluy mya greshnago._

The doctor hands Yuuri a pregnancy test five minutes into the appointment. It’s a brand that Yuuri has used before.

“Take that,” she says, tapping it with her pencil. “There’s a bathroom down the hall. It should only take a minute for it to develop.”

“But I—I can’t be pregnant,” Yuuri says, bewildered.

The doctor glances at her chart. She’s being so _nonchalant_ about this. Yuuri was almost sure that he would walk into this appointment and be told that he had Something Horrible, and this woman is barely paying attention to him.

“Your chart says that your last cycle ended nine weeks ago, and that you’ve given birth to three children. Also, the symptoms you’re displaying are textbook hyperemesis gravidarum, which is a complication that can sometimes arise in people over thirty-five, even if they haven’t had morning sickness before. It’s very possible that you’re pregnant, Katsuki-san.”

“No, it isn’t,” Yuuri says, shaking his head, “Because my husband had a vasectomy earlier this year.”

The doctor flips through her chart again, as if Viktor’s medical records would somehow be listed on his chart. She frowns and clucks her tongue. “How long did you and your husband wait after his vasectomy to have sex?”

“Three weeks, like the surgeon told us. We’re not idiots.”

“Katsuki-san,” says the doctor, raising an eyebrow. “Vasectomies can take up to four months to be fully effective. Your husband may have still been fertile. Now please, take the test. Oh, and—” she takes a specimen cup out of the cabinet and hands that to him, as well. “Fill that up to the line. We’ll need to send a sample to the lab. Store-bought pregnancy tests are relatively accurate, but we should make sure.”

Yuuri drifts numbly towards the bathroom. Before he has even made it back to the doctor’s office, the test is displaying a little blue plus sign that the doctor regards with a kind of almost-smug expression for a few minutes, before prescribing Yuuri an antiemetic and sending him on his way home.

“You can take this, too,” she says as he’s on his way out, handing him the test. “So you can show your husband.”

Yuuri walks out to Viktor in the waiting room and walks out to the car with him silently, intending to figure out a way to explain it to him that doesn’t start with _I’m pregnant even though you had a vasectomy and I know how this looks but—_

They make it halfway home before Yuuri shoots out a hand to grip Viktor’s knee and snaps, “Pull over.”

They’re on a countryside road, thankfully, so nobody is around but a few bored cats and a bird to watch him lean out of the car and puke. Viktor has on hand gripping his own tight enough to hurt, and the other fisted into the back of Yuuri’s shirt to keep him from falling out of the car.

“Oh God,” he hears Viktor whimper, sounding on the verge of tears. “Oh, God. Please, God, what’s wrong with him? Yuuri, _Yuuri_. Please, just tell me what’s _wrong_. Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy—"

Yuuri spits fervently at the ground and says, “I’m _pregnant_.”

Viktor goes very, very quiet behind him. Yuuri sits up and closes the car door, but doesn’t look at him. He pulls the test out of his pocket and holds it out behind him, jaw set. Viktor takes it. Yuuri, still, doesn’t look at him.

“It’s yours, I swear,” Yuuri says, staring intently into the mocking eyes of an orange-eyed gray cat lounging on a old wooden box outside the car. “I swear to God, Vitya, I don’t know how this happened, but it’s yours.”

“Yuuri—”

“The doctor says that sometimes vasectomies aren’t immediately effective,” Yuuri continues. The cat’s eyes are like two tiny pumpkins, or a pair of Reese’s Pieces. Yuuri hasn’t had Reese’s Pieces since he lived in America. Yuuri really wants some Reese’s Pieces. “So that could be why—”

“Yuuri, my _God_ , of course it’s mine,” Viktor says, grabbing his arm, and Yuuri turns around. Viktor has a look of relief so profound that even Yuuri, who finds it difficult to read facial expressions on the best of days, can tell what it is. “It never even crossed my mind that it wasn’t. I’m just so—I can’t even think, I’m so _fucking_ relieved. Thank God. I thought you were—I thought—” He tips over, burying his face in Yuuri’s lap. Yuuri brushes a hand through his hair and hopes that there are no police officers on patrol through this area. It would be really hard to explain why he’s sitting with his husband’s face in his lap in a parked car. Yuuri didn’t dodge public indecency charges for five years of college only to be charged at age thirty-eight because his husband is always an over emotional _wreck_ when he finds out he’s having a baby.

“So you’re okay?” Viktor whispers, wiping his eyes on Yuuri’s pants after a moment. “You’re going to be alright?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri murmurs. “The doctor gave me a prescription and told me to drink fluids. It probably won’t go away until the second trimester, but I’ll be fine.”

“You’ve never had morning sickness before,” Viktor says, and now he’s starting to sound just as bewildered as Yuuri feels. “I wonder why it’s happening now.”

“I have no idea,” sighs Yuuri, shaking his head. “Let’s just be glad it’s a baby, and not something…” he doesn’t have to finish his sentence. They’ve both spent the last week imagining the worst possible case scenario.

“A baby,” says Viktor, and his eyes are just as soft and just as big as the first time.

(“Two, actually!” says the ultrasound technician at their appointment two weeks later. “Twins! That explains the hyperemesis gravidarum. It’s common in multiple pregnancies.”

“Two,” says Yuuri, his eyes wide.

“Two!” says Viktor, the absolute picture of delight “Two babies! Twins!”

“Identical twins, by the looks of it,” says the technician.

“Identical twins!” Viktor cries.)

Kyo and Koichi are born with full, thick heads of jet black hair and identical blue eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! As always, I am LavenderProse on Tumblr. Please come scream at me there. Please also go check out the Knock Yuuri Up Week blog and read the other great fics that have been posted for the event!


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